I am sitting awake later than usual on this rainy night, waiting for the hour when I may try something new. It's not often that I'm waiting for a late night hour, passing the time in the evening, filling it slowly. Waiting for an hour to bring a new experience, and in the midst of my waiting, already living one. As the time passes and approaches what is coming, it is all too possible that the hour will not bring what it is expected to bring and in its trace will be only the waiting, and the way in which it was waited. Every moment new.